


Just Like Being in Love

by celestialskiff



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's like being in love, finding your best friend.</i> </p>
<p>For the AoS Exchange. </p>
<p>It was always easy between Jemma and Leo. Until it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Being in Love

**Author's Note:**

> For isaaclahye! I hope you enjoy.

“It's like being in love, finding your best friend.” --Elizabeth Wein, _Code Name Verity_

1.

It was always been easy between them. 

The first time they sat the same exam, Jemma got 120% because she answered two more questions than necessary.

Leo only got 100%. 

He hated her. He hated her, but she still made him smile. 

2.

After the first assignment they were teamed together, when they'd stay up for three nights, fallen asleep on the same desk, and handed in the completed paper two days early to a lecturer who suggested they apply for a patent, they were friends. 

And it was even easier. “I never had a best friend before,” Jemma said at some point in the middle of the second night they'd spent together. (They spent it on a couch in the student lounge. They threw skittles into each other's mouths, and fell asleep leaning against each other when the sugar high wore off.) 

Leo was glad she was his friend now, because she might be smart, but she needed him around to tell her that she couldn't just _say_ things like that in a raw, honest voice. People would think she was weird. 

He didn't know how to reply. The corners of her mouth were red from skittles dye, and her mascara had rubbed off onto his shirt. It was a weird thing to say, but the thing was, he'd never had a best friend either. He'd never been invited to sleepovers or to go bowling or to get drunk in the park after school. He'd been too busy working on exams and patenting new designs. 

He chewed his lip. “Yeah. We should do all the best friends stuff we didn't do before.”

Jemma considered him. “Like have a secret handshake?” 

He laughed, because she was perfect, and she was his best friend. 

3.

They stayed in dorms on-campus during the first year at SHIELD academy, but the year after, they got their own flat. Usually only the oldest recruits did that, but, “We're probably going to graduate some time this year,” Leo said. 

“We never really fit in on campus anyway,” Jemma said. 

(She'd had a boyfriend last year, with big arms. Leo hadn't liked him. Jemma had said it wasn't any of Leo's business, but she'd broken up with him not long after that. Sometimes he and Jemma slept in the same bed. It wasn't weird, it was what best friends did. Other people from the dorms used to insinuate that they were having sex, and that made Jemma embarrassed. Leo thought, over all, it was better that they had their own place. 

Away from distractions. 

They could get some real work done.) 

“We were fine,” Leo said to Jemma. “We fit in fine. We just don't need those people. Distractions. Boyfriends. We want to be heading a team by the time we're thirty, right?” 

“If not before,” Jemma spread a new purple blanket over their couch. The couch had come with the flat and was a bit threadbare and very, very aquamarine. “You underestimate yourself.” 

“Twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-six.” Jemma lay down on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “Ooh, that water-mark is the same shape as Belarus.” 

“Twenty-six? I want to have at least some fun before I'm dead.”

“I thought you said boyfriends were a distraction.” Jemma sat up. “From this angle it looks like a dragon is eating Belarus.” 

She was confusing him. “That's not a dragon, that's a kraken,” Leo said. 

“It's a dragon,” Jemma said, and threw a pillow at him. 

A brief scuffle followed, involving the new blanket, the couch cushions and one rather cross-looking teddy-bear. They both claimed to have won. 

4.

Jemma rang him just after midnight. It still felt like Christmas Day, but Leo supposed it was Boxing Day really. He'd fixed the oven and his Mum had produced a vast turkey and they'd watched three films in a row, mostly Westerns. He felt stuffed and bleary. 

But Jemma was crying. He'd only ever heard he cry twice before: once during a chemistry class when another student had deliberately spilt hydrochloric acid on her (they'd got their revenge, but Jemma still had a pinkish burn), and once during _War Horse_. 

“What happened?”

Jemma sniffed. “It's so stupid, I shouldn't let it upset me.”

He could hear sounds in the distance. Traffic. Wind. “Where are you?”

“It's the same every year. Dad makes horrible jokes and pinches me and the boys laugh and Mum says why am I so sensitive and every year I think I'll be a proper grown-up and it won't bother me but it does and...” 

She broke off. A stifled sob. And then a whoosh, like a train going past. 

“Jemma. Where are you?”

“The thing is.” Jemma coughed. “Do you think I could come to your house for New Year?” 

Leo didn't have to think about it. “Yes. Are you OK?”

“I'm at the station. In Sheffield. The Edinburgh train comes through at 6.51. And I'll get the train to Glasgow from there.”

“But it's...” Leo looked at his watch. His new watch, black and gold, not that useful because it didn't have a second hand but his Mum didn't know that. It cost more than she could afford. “It's only a quarter past one.”

“I've got a book,” Jemma said. “It's about cloning procedures and sheep DNA.” 

Her voice was small and thin and far away. He could hear her trying not to cry. He pictured her sitting on a cold bench in Sheffield in December, waiting and waiting for the train. 

“Are you on your mobile?” Leo asked. “I'll ring you back.” 

They talked all night. Leo didn't know what they talked about. He knew Jemma's voice changed, from small and desolate, to warm and sleepy and familiar. When the train arrived, he collapsed face forward onto his bed and slept with the house phone curled under his arm like it was a teddy-bear. 

Jemma brought flowers for his Mum and slept on his bedroom floor and it was like she'd always been there. 

5.

“Agent Duggan thinks we're having sex,” Jemma said. She'd recently taken up jogging first thing in the morning, and she was wearing tight leggings and a baggy white t-shirt and there was a sheen of sweat at her forehead and on her breastbone. Leo kept staring at the sweat and then looking away. 

He coughed. “Do you want tea?” 

“Need a shower first,” Jemma rubbed at her forehead vaguely. “God, I'm starving.” 

“There's cold pizza. And half a thing of bacon.” 

Jemma leant against the fridge, considering him. “Cereal?”

“No milk. Why does Agent Duggan think we're... you know? Lots of people live together.” 

“Because she saw us sharing that plate of Pad Thai. She said only couples do that.” 

But the Pad Thai portions were always too big, and he didn't mind sharing with Jemma. They probably had all the same germs at this point. 

“Anyway, she gave me a talk about how SHIELD agents shouldn't be so obvious and that relationships were always a mistake.” Jemma opened the freezer and looked at half a bag of frozen corn and some minced beef as though either of those items might turn into something she wanted to eat. 

“Oh.” The kettle boiled. Leo ignored it. “What did you say?”

“I said you were my best friend and did she want to see our designs for the Golden Retrievers or not and she said what kind of name is 'Golden Retriever'.” 

Jemma looked unconcerned, and sweaty. She did need a shower. Her hair was damp against her skull. Leo bit his lip. “What will she do? You don't think they'll split us up?” 

“We won't let them.” 

She sounded so certain. Leo stomach felt tight. “How can we stop them?” 

Jemma fiddled with one of the magnets on the side of the fridge. It was a picture of Einstein. She said, “SHIELD has given me the best education I can imagine. I want to be head of the biochem unit one day. But if they try to split us up we'll tell them we're going to apply for jobs in the private sector.” She paused, turning Einstein upside down. “Have you any idea how employable we are? Stark would pay way more than SHIELD.” 

Leo goggled at her. He hadn't even considered that. “Should we really make threats?”

“We'll have to be subtle. We're not going at lying, we'll have to make a script.” 

He was still staring at her. He couldn't stop himself. He hadn't known she'd thought about it. He hadn't known she felt so strongly. 

“Don't look so worried.” She took two steps over the kitchen tiles until she was right in front of him. He could smell her—clean sweat, clean cotton. She leant up, she kissed his forehead. Light and feathery, warm lips on warm skin. 

“I'm not worried.” 

She smiled. “Well, I have a plan.” 

His throat felt rough. “Go have a shower. You smell.” 

Jemma flicked his shoulder. “ _You_ smell.” 

He watched her as she left the room. Her small shape, and yet how the room seemed empty without her in it. He touched the place on his forehead where she had kissed him. His body felt full with an emotion he couldn't name. Didn't want to name. 

It was too much. Pizza was a crap breakfast. He went out to the newsagents down the road, to get croissants for both of them. 

6\. 

“Living on a plane, though, Jemma?” 

They were sitting on the dock by the lake, sharing an ice-cream. Although Jemma was doing most of the eating. Leo was feeling too wound-up. “It'll be uncomfortable. Weird. Where will we sleep?” 

“A bunk. Our flat isn't exactly a palace, is it? You've never been concerned about comfort before.”

Leo kicked at the wall. Some ducks floated by. Green. Insouciant. He wished he was one. “We said we weren't going to go in the field.”

“It's not exactly in the field. It just sort of...” Jemma sucked at the ice-cream spoon. “Field adjacent.” She thrust the little tub at him. “Eat some of this. I wouldn't have got strawberry if it was only for me.” 

Leo took the spoon from her. It was sticky. “What if I don't go?”

“I'd like to go,” Jemma said. “See the world. Get some real experiences. We'll be so close to new technologies, to scientific innovations. It'll be invigorating. I want to see everything. I don't ever want to let my mind go stale, you know?”

He didn't want the ice cream. He licked the spoon anyway. The air was mild. Spring, nearly summer. Leo hadn't noticed the seasons changing: he'd been in a lab. A swan sailed calmly towards them. He could hear bees somewhere. 

Jemma was still looking at him. Eager. Passionate. Maybe he would like to work on a plane. Maybe he _would_ get stale if he stayed here. Jemma was so brave all the time. He kicked the wall again, scuffing his heels. Why did she always find it so easy to be brave?

“Yeah,” Leo said. “I know.”

Jemma was smiling. Her smile was so sudden, and so bright. That smile always made Leo want to do whatever she said. It always made him want to be a better person. 

Damn Jemma. Damn her smile. 

“So you'll come?”

Leo sighed (a gasp, a withheld protest, a moment he would remember when he was in the field, cold and scared). Then he nodded. “But for the next hour, let's not talk about planes, OK?”

Jemma made a little, squeaking, happy sound. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Is that a mute swan, do you think? They're not called 'mute' because they're actually mute, I read that somewhere...” 

“You didn't read it, you saw it on _QI_. I was sitting beside you.” Suddenly Leo had an appetite again. He sucked down the rest of the strawberry, and passed the little tub to Jemma so she could dig into the mint chip. 

7.

Leo was going to rush right into Jemma's bunk, but then he heard Skye's voice. He stopped. He wasn't sure why he stopped, because he wanted to talk to Jemma about a geometric resonances experiment he'd been running recently, and Skye could listen to that if she wanted. It wasn't private. But he stood, hand on the door, listening. He wasn't sure he'd ever known anyone to be in Jemma's room other than himself. 

“You're very gentle,” Jemma was saying. “I've never been any good at doing plaits.”

“Sometimes I'd fix the little kids' hair when I was in the orphanage.” Skye paused. “No one ever did mine, and the girls liked to go to school looking nice.” 

“How did you learn, then?” Jemma's voice sounded kind.

“Oh, around. I had a foster mom who was a stylist.” Skye's tone changed as she said, “Your hair is gorgeous, Simmons, it's so soft. Look in the mirror.” 

Leo heard them moving around. Then Jemma's voice, “It's cute. I wish I could return the favour.” 

He felt weird about listening, suddenly. He should just go in. No, he should leave them alone and get on with his work. For a moment he was frozen with indecision, and then he pushed the door open. 

They both looked up. They smiled, Skye nodded her head to him. And yet, though they were happy to talk, he felt like he'd invaded a private moment. Like they didn't need him there. He didn't like that feeling. 

8.

The Bus hummed beneath them. Leo was amazed by how quickly he'd got used to that sound. 

Jemma was behind him, pressed close. There wasn't room for her to do anything else. Her arm was over his stomach, her chin tucked into his neck. He could feel her breath in his hair. (Spooning. They were spoons. That was the word.) 

She was the one who needed comforting, Leo thought. She was the one who'd nearly died, who'd jumped from the plane to save them. And yet he was the one who was shivering, who'd needed to be held. 

“Don't ever do that again,” he murmured against his arm. He wasn't sure who he was talking to. Himself or Jemma, or this life they'd chosen. 

“I know. I've been hearing that a lot.” 

“We could have a cosy job at the academy. All the professors love us.” 

Her arm tightened around him. “Is that really what you want?”

Leo wanted to roll over and face her. And he couldn't bring himself to move. She was so warm, and so small. How could someone so small contain him so completely? 

“I don't know,” he said, honestly. He wanted to challenge himself. He wanted to be here, brushing against alien technology, against superheroes. And he wanted to go home, to the dingy flat they didn't live in any more. “I just... Don't want to get hurt. Or you. I don't want you to get hurt either.” 

“I know.” Jemma sighed. “Having field experience will make our work better. We can see what agents really need. When we're running the science division, we'll look back on this time fondly.” 

Her arm was so warm on his stomach. They'd shared a bed before, but it was different. They'd been working on something, sitting side by side on a double bed, and had passed out next to each other. Sometimes he'd woken with Jemma's nose in his ear, or his hand on her back, but it hadn't been like this. Squashed up against each other in a tiny bunk. Lying here specifically so they could hold each other. 

Did best friends do this? He wasn't sure any more. 

“Jemma...” he began. 

“Hmm?”

He could feel her breathing against him, the expansion and contraction of her ribs. He thought of being alone in this bed. Just the hum of the Bus for company. He thought of being without her, and it made him feel so lonely his throat seemed to close up. 

He put his hand over hers. He squeezed it. “Nothing,” he said. 

She yawned. “Nearly dying has really taken it out of me.” 

She didn't get up to go to her own bed, and he didn't suggest it. They lay together. The engines purred and blurred together, the sound so constant Leo almost couldn't hear it any more. 

9.

It used to snow in Glasgow most winters. There'd be a fall during school hours, white flakes from a dull sky, and then there'd be snowball fights and icy pavements and grit. The buses would take forever. It'd melt in a day or two, and the ground would be wet, and then it'd snow again. But it wasn't anything like this.

Leo listened to his footfalls. They weren't silent: the snow creaked under his feet, dull and steady. There was so much snow. It seemed impractical, almost unbelievable, that there could be so much snow in the world. This would've buried Glasgow, right up to the top of the tallest steeple. 

Hyberbole, of course. But it felt like so much: enough to bury the planet. A shadowy world of snow. He listened to the crunch under his feet and breathed in the clean, white air and tried not to think about anything else. 

But that was impossible. 

They were walking through an icy forest to an uncertain destination. SHIELD had fallen apart;Coulson wasn't acting rationally. Leo breathed out a puff of air, moisture beading on his lips. 

“Remember when we thought about working for Stark?” he said in an undertone. 

Jemma was panting a little. She nodded. 

“I'm really glad we didn't do that. This field experience is a lot more valuable.” 

She shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“He probably pays more too. But I don't really need to buy a fancy car.”

“You can't drive. Idiot.” 

“I could make some amazing upgrades and then trade it in for an even fancier car.” 

A soft sigh behind them as snow fell from a tree-branch. He could see Skye walking up ahead, silent, putting her feet in Coulson's bootprints. Tripp and May, side by side. Yet somehow it felt like he and Jemma were alone with the forest, just snow and trees and their voices. 

Jemma seemed to follow his train of thought. “I wonder how long we could survive out here.”

“You and me?” Leo said. “Indefinitely. But if we had to take care of everyone else we might not last so long.” 

Jemma was looking at Tripp. “I don't know, we could use someone who can chop wood.” 

“Can't you? Haven't you and Skye been jogging together?”

“Yeah, jogging. Not lifting weights or, you know, learning basic survival skills.” 

“I believe in you,” Leo said. 

Jemma snorted. “You'll do anything to get out of manual labour.” 

Leo's forearms were muscled from working with machinery. And his hands were scarred from circuits and fuses. He was stronger than he looked. But he didn't say that. He laughed. 

He touched Jemma's wrist. “I'm glad nothing's changed.” And he did feel better, for having this conversation. The easy flow of words between them. 

But Jemma's face fell. “Oh, Fitz,” she said softly. She walked on ahead, tucking her chin into her collar. 

10.

Save Jemma, he was thinking when the water came in. 

Save Jemma, he'd been thinking when they'd fallen from the Bus. 

Save Jemma, he'd been thinking when Ward had them. 

He hadn't known he could be so altruistic. He hadn't known he'd want to save her more than his own skin. He'd thought, in a moment like this, his real self would show up, desperate and full of a grubby instinct for self-preservation. Instead, his innermost self seemed to be made up of two words: Save Jemma. 

He wasn't sure he liked it. Saving Jemma hurt. He wished he could curl up on the floor, hide his face, not love her. Be another person entirely. 

Save Jemma, he was thinking when the water came in. 

Twenty punches to the stomach, and then everything was white and red and loud. 

White and red and loud, roaring, rushing. A sound that went on and on until it obliterated everything else. And he hurt. He hurt everywhere. He hurt so much he vanished inside the pain like there was no separation between it and him. 

The pain came hot and scourged him. The pain came hot and changed him. 

Save Jemma. 

Such a long time. 

There were cool fingers on his wrist. Cool fingers, and his mouth was dry. So dry his tongue felt like it might shrivel up. He felt like he'd been asleep for a long time. 

Such a long time. 

Save Jemma. He hoped the fingers were hers. He hoped he'd done the right thing. 

11.

The cord was thick and black. The physio had given it to him so he could thread buttons onto it. It was so thick it was insulting and the buttons were bright plastic. Lift one, thread it, slide it down the cord.

Except he couldn't do it. His fingers didn't listen to him. His right hand was stiff and trembling at the same time. His fingers felt twice as thick as usual. His left hand moved more deftly, but it didn't seem that interested in what his brain was telling it. 

Button onto thread. It wasn't a challenge. The hole was as big as his fingernail. The button was pillarbox red. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw them at the wall. 

“You're doing well,” Jemma said. 

She'd come in with a tray and a physics text book under her arm. The tray had scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice, a yoghurt. His mouth watered, but he couldn't look at it. 

“I'm not,” he wanted to say. “I'm not doing well.” But the words felt blunt inside his mouth, heavy: he didn't want to say them, because she was smiling. Damn her smile. 

“You'll be out of here in no time.” She put the tray down, and reached for a red button. She held up to her eye, peering through the hole like it was a telescope. It was a fluid, easy motion. Leo noticed that now that his own movements were so different. 

“Aren't you hungry?”

But he couldn't eat with her here. He couldn't let her see the scrambled eggs on his shirt, the orange juice on his chin. 

Everyone said he was getting better. 

Every time he woke up, he felt like he was in the moment when the window had broken. The water pouring in. It had been instant: the black rush, the breath torn from him, the sudden pain. And it had gone on forever. 

He wondered what Jemma remembered. He couldn't ask her, even though the words were there. He didn't know how to ask her. 

She kept smiling at him. Saying he was getting better. He didn't know how to tell her truth. 

The eggs were cooling, but he could still smell them. Savoury. He was hungry: his stomach could only handle small meals, but he was constantly hungry. 

“We could work on the flashcards again,” Jemma said. 

The flashcards were even more patronising than the buttons. He hated that Jemma could talk about them so cheerfully. As if this wasn't endless humiliation. “Leave me alone,” he snapped, staring at the tray. 

“Fitz...” Jemma sounded hurt. He didn't look at her. Couldn't stand her sad eyes. After a moment, she said, “Yes, OK. I'll let you get some rest.” 

He didn't want her to leave; without her there his hands didn't shake so badly. He was able to get the eggs into his mouth. 

12.

Ghost-Jemma said, “Agent Duggan thinks we're having sex.” She was laughing. 

Delusion-Jemma said, “You just have to be patient. How's the cloaking technology coming?”

Real Jemma might be dead for all he knew. He'd asked Skye where she was, and Skye had gritted her teeth and said, “She's abandoned all of us.” Skye was angry: he liked that. But she kept trying to touch his arm and she looked worried, her eyes big and wet, and he couldn't stand it. 

He'd asked May where Jemma was too, though that was harder. May had evaded him neatly and asked about the cloaking. He would've asked Coulson, but he never saw Coulson. Coulson was probably avoiding him. Because he was useless. 

Ghost-Jemma laughed. Delusion-Jemma reminded him to take his meds. He was sick of all the Jemmas. His mind was spiralling through them, lost in them. They made things easier, but he knew he wasn't clear. Not with them there. He was spinning. 

13.

Mack, grinning at him. “Half of what you say is nonsense.” 

But he felt clear around Mack. He didn't feel like he was talking nonsense. And he didn't care if Mack thought he did. 

“Don't you have a tie?” Mack appraised him. Mack looked great in a suit. It wasn't fair. 

“Hands,” Leo said. “Can't tie them.” 

“Go and get one: we can't stand out. We're stealing from a crime scene.” 

Leo wanted to make a joke about that being crime squared but it didn't come out. He went to get a tie, and Mack tied it for him. Mack didn't make a big deal out of it, but it still felt weird because Leo was pretty sure the last person to tie one for him was his Mum. 

(Dangerous to think about his Mum. He hadn't really explained to her what had happened. He was afraid.) 

“Ready?” Mack said. They got in the car together. Leo felt jittery. He'd never done anything like this before. Bodies made him sick: they were Jemma's area. He wasn't sure why Mack was bringing him along. But at the same time, he felt excited. Mack trusted him not to screw up. He liked that. 

“I talked to Jemma,” Mack said, staring at the road. 

Leo wished people would stop trying to talk to him about Jemma. Skye had as well. He didn't know what to say. 

“I think she missed you,” was all Mack said. 

Leo plucked at his sleeves. “What kind of sentence do you get for body snatching?”

“It's not really snatching. It's borrowing. Just walk in there like you already own it.”

“If I'm just borrowing, I don't own it.” The shirt felt too tight; it was hot in the car. 

“Don't be pedantic, man.”

“You said this would be a legal grey area.”

“We live in a legal grey area,” Mack said. “Stop worrying.”

And he did. He'd been in the base too long. They road stretched in front of them: busy, grey, clogged with fumes. But he felt as free as if the road had been clear and clean and stretching into a golden sunset. 

14.

He was playing an X-Box game with Mack. Skye and May were behind them, discussing gun maintenance. For the topic, the snatches of conversation he heard were surprisingly cheerful. 

Leo's eyes moved between the screen and Mack's hands, light and easy on the controls. Leo was losing, but that was OK. 

For a second, he didn't miss Jemma. 

 

15.

“I just want my best friend back,” he said, quietly. The words came. 

Jemma looked up. She smiled. 

It wasn't easy between them. It never had been. 

He hadn't known that was what he needed to say until the words came out. But, now, finally, it was clear. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she said. He'd always hated the way she'd said that: it was patronising somehow, disbelieving. But now he heard it differently. It was loving. 

She loved him as much as he loved her. He saw that now. It was just different. But it was there, and it was all that mattered: that feeling that kept them up all night talking. That sent her to his house at Christmas when she was sad. That made him go in the field because he wouldn't be without her. That feeling. It was there. They could get everything else back. 

Every moment he'd hated her, he'd been falling in love. She wasn't and she didn't and he wasn't the same and neither was she. It all hurt so much. 

But right now she was smiling at him, and there was a tangle of wires in front of her, and he knew just how to help. He still knew the end of her sentence before she did. 

They were best friends. It didn't have to be easy. It had never been easy.


End file.
